Diary of the Captain
by CaptainLoganPrice
Summary: Captain Logan Keegan Price is in the USMC, a exceptional captain. The 'Mental Doc', or counselor, gave him a small, dark leather notebook to write in, saying it would help prepare him for what was to come... But war is harder than he thought, and even though he is one of the best, he has troubles as well. From basic training, to his first assignment, Logan writes his story.
1. Chapter 1

So here I am again. Jenny says I type too much. Says I need to speak more. But how can I talk when all I've been trained to do is be silent? Be deadly? If she read what I write, her job would be done. She acts like I don't know why she's here, but I do. Apparently, she needs the information verbally. I ain't giving them crap. They are the ones who put this stuff in my head anyway, then they must've not needed it anymore. Anyway, here's my story, and Jenny, if you did get smart enough to read this, all you Washington people are idiots.

~Sincerely,  
Captain Logan Keegan Price, USMC.

_**June 1st, 1985./Battle training.  
**_...I'm a failure. A Air Force Cadet beat me in a hand-to-combat exercise. CADET! I humiliated my trainers. My teammates. Fellow recruits. Im just like my brother Zachary. I hate him, but it doesn't change that fact. Anyway, I had the cadet beaten when he made a lucky blow, in fact, no one knows my only weakness. but it was enough. And he was quick when he saw me defenseless. And that's when I was pummeled. So after a few unbelievable years (Seconds) My trainer hauled me to my feet and pummeled me himself. Score one for the Air Force. A Cadet. He's had less training than me, yet he beat me. Because of one lucky blow I couldn't recover from. Doesn't matter, I guess. If I get shot just below the shoulder, then i'm dead anyway. That's my weak spot. He hit me there, and I fell to the ground, barely conscious. That's why i'm such a hard opponent to beat. If I get hit once there by a enemy, I am defenseless and would probably die. But I made the mistake of listening to my instructor, guarding my head more than my weak spot. And I paid for it. So now I have-

_**June 1, 1985./Barracks, 11:45 pm.  
**_Sorry I left, the instructor pulled me out again. He was mad. Thankfully, he didn't see me slide the notebook into my pillowcase when I got up. Having you, diary, is dangerous, but the mental Doc, that's what we call him, said it's good to talk. Gets me more prepared. Well, I am, but I'm not doing any better. We shall see what happens tomorrow. I have made a vow, and I will succeed in it or pay with my life honorably. I Shall Not Be Like Zachary. Never. LiGHts OuT, Ca'Nt sEE AnyMoRe

_**June 3, 1985./Lunch.  
**_Food here sucks. Then again, I've eaten worse on the streets. Stuff most people wouldn't stomach just looking at. It's awful. Anyway, I regained my status as a pretty good recruit, promising, and no one thought of my brother when they looked at me. I got into a fight defending a high ranking officer's reputation among my fellow recruits. And I won that fight. And guess who started it: That air force cadet. Jefferson's his name. I beat the daylights outta him, had him begging for relief as I beat him. His instructors had to pull me off, and they had a rough time too. My trainer just slapped me on the back and set me to the infirmary, although all I needed was a bandage on my nose. The cadet had worse. Got to go, training exercise next.

_**June 15, 1985./Day before graduation.  
**_I haven't written in so long, my pencil is foreign to me. Graduation is tomorrow, and I'm excited, but tired. Our final exercise was the cliff climb, and I was the first up alone, no help whatsoever from anyone. I'm tough now. People trust me, say I'm a good leader. No one thinks me of my brother now. Now all I've got to do is keep proving I'm a better man than he was. I am ranking up to sergeant after graduation, first ever. They are that impressed, and I can do more. I can't wait to get my first taste of actual combat. I wont lose.

_**July 2, 1985./Arrival.  
**_I am in the jungles of Laos, haha just like in Call of Duty Black Ops. Yeah, me and the boys play it regularly. Would you know It, then nicknamed me Mason. Better than Air Force, before I redeemed myself after the lost battle of the cadet. And I haven't lost a fight since, haha.  
I really like our captain, he's a good man, good leader, and a heck of a fighter. He friendly but stern, keeps us on our toes. And he cooks pretty well too. His parents were cooks.

_**July 6, 1985./Mission update.  
**_We are heading out of Laos. My hands are shaking, but Mom's Lessons are paying off. I cannot write messy. A nuclear bomb was reported, and SEAL teams aren't sure if they can disarm it. These are times I hate my job, for we couldn't tell the local population. I passed a little girl who had picked me a wild flower, for thanking us for protecting them for our short time there. I am sure she is now dead. I am crying softly, as are my fellow Marines, but I do not show them. My captain was a valiant man. He refused to go, but chose instead to die with the people he so bravely defended for years and years. I am now in charge. And I am scared.

_**August 3, 1985./Home again.  
**_I'm in my hometown, but im only staying for a day. I hate being on leave, or any vacation of any sort. I'm no longer the man I was when I joined. I thrive on the excitement, the adrenaline rush when I'm on the job. I love commanding my team members. I love leading them safely through successful mission. No mission failure yet. I am just that good. I'm not being vain, it's now a fact. And I am not haughty about it. It's a fact I'm proud of. I have no trouble knowing now that I am better than my brother. Zachary is now scared of me, respects me, and I don't owe him anything. I am on the plane back now, I rented a small plane to fly back to Houston, Army base there. From there, I will be flown via 'Hawk to the USS Detroit, where I will meet my team and some SAS members. Funny how I played Call of Duty Modern Warfare when I was a kid, and here I am, a captain, and fighting alongside actual British forces, the SAS. Must go, Landing soon.

_**August 5, 1985./Mission briefing.  
**_So since we didn't have enough Intel to find those perks, we weren't able to get them.  
Sorry for the wait. Our coms are messing up, and out communications are down. Something's not right, but Admiral Shane is ignoring my advise to arm the men.

_**August 6, 1985./Deserts of Egypt.  
**_We were attacked. I expected it, and I made sure my men were ready, but a well-planned attack against a few men? Not good enough. My first loss, and it was major. Admiral Shane was murdered, as were many others. We managed to swim ashore, and regroup. The men silently made me in charge. I'm fine with that, but I am shaken. But I am not a kid, showing how scared he is. No, I am soldier, and a captain, And a leader. I WILL get these men outta here, even if it kills me. Must go, we need fresh water soon.

_**August 6, 1985./Nightfall.  
**_Campfire's made. We have a total of 63 men with us. Sailors, airmen, my men, and 10 SAS men, their captain wounded by debris in the water. And these men want me to lead them out. The SAS captain is much more qualified, but he cant seem to regain consciousness. He took a bad blow to the head, and I'm afraid we cant help him with out medical help. The campfire is small, we don't want to attract too much attention. No doubt they will have search parties out, Allies and Enemies. I am filled with dread, but I can do nothing. Also, we are getting eaten up by Pesky Mosquitoes, and there's no relief, even in the smoke of the fire. I can only hope we don't get malaria.

_**August 10, 1985./Anyone There?  
**_We are still in this little paradise amid this cursed desert. It's awful. Where is our Allies? All we have spotted are enemy patrols, but they look like terrorists, but they can be, from all the training and weaponry they have. They are a actual military force, from whom, I don't yet know. However, this water hole will not stay undiscovered forever, and I have got to move my men. Must go, gunfire is getting closer.


	2. Chapter 2

_**August 11, 1985./We Ever Getting Out?**_

I don't mean to complain, but it's getting hotter out. And the men are tired, starving, and some wounded. Food is hard to get, water even harder, because now our oasis is being watched. The SAS captain died last night. It was _**my **_fault. I should have gotten him out sooner. But no, I'm sitting here feeling sorry for myself while my freaking soldiers, _**my brothers,**_ are dying in front of my eyes!

_**August 12, 1985./Night.**_

It's dark out. The enemy knows we are here. We blew our cover, but we did it when one of the insurgents tried to rape a young girl who was gathering water. These heartless, cold killers have no honor among them, and it sickens me. But anyway, me and another SAS member were watching them. We couldn't stand by and watch. Went against both our codes of honor. So we dropped them, both perfect head shots from 100 yards with a M16 with enhanced scopes. The girl, of course, ran and told her family, which in turn told the insurgents. We had to move. Those who were injured were more so, for we had to move hastily. I have a very bad feeling.

_**August 15, 1985./Captured.**_

I was F****** right. It was wrong. I led my men into a trap. I am such an idiot. I lost 16 of my men. The injured ones. They executed them on the spot, their blood dripping on us as they forced us to carry their bodies to throw in the river. I have failed. Most miserably. My men referred to the slaying as the Bataan Death March, except we aren't on a island being herded like cattle by Japs. No, the Japanese are our friends, and right now, we pray they noticed our absence at the meeting that was supposed to take place. If the U.S. wont come for us, then perhaps Japan might. I can only hope as much.

_**August 23, 1985./Awaking.**_

I fought back. Philip, or Wolf, my closest friend and advisor, is dead. He stopped to help a weak SAS soldier, who would have died if he hadn't stopped, and was punished for it. Shot in the stomach and left to die. I ran to help him, and probably could have helped him, but a soldier stood in my way, laughing as he held me at gunpoint. I lost it. I ducked as he laughed, punching his stomach and jerked the gun away. I then hit him with the butt of the gun, apparently killing him. Because when he hit the ground, I was already in trouble. I ran to Wolf, but they dragged me off. I was kicking and screaming insults to their faces, and a soldier knocked me out mercifully. My best friend was dying in front of my eyes. I didn't want to watch that. I couldn't do anything. They killed him, and I won't let that go unpunished.

_**August 25, 1985./Boarding.**_

They herded us on a boat. A big freight liner. And here is a chance to escape. They have us in handcuffs, and beat us regularly, probably to try to install fear in us. But the boy's and me are fuming. While those drunken soldiers beat us yesterday, Weasel managed to snatch a knife. Tonight, I managed to snatch a gun. These idiots don't know anything. They will be too drunk to know anything. So far, my men have listened to me, refusing anything to eat or drink except bottled water, unopened. But we are getting weaker and weaker from lack of food. We need to escape soon.

_**September 10, 1985./Finally. **_

Got a few things to catch you up on. We escaped on August the 26, when our nightly torture was to begin. Those men were so drunk, their words slurred together, and then leaned on us for support. Ha, fat chance of that, you b******. So we managed to get into the lifeboats, fitting into one. There's only 26 of us now. Out of 53 f****** men. They still look up to me, trusting _**me**_ to get them out. _**But what if I can't?**_


	3. Chapter 3

_**September 11, 1985./Dead tired.**_

My men and I don't know what to do. All of us are wounded, and I'm afraid gangrene is setting in on Walter's leg, down to his foot. In order to save his life, we might have to somehow cut off his leg. Those bastards on the dam boat. They are a actual military force, but of whos, I do not know. But I will. Someday. I am coming back, and I'm gonna slit all their throats, slowly and painfully, the way they are torturing us. Were, I should say. Davie, the only medical officer we have, is tired to the point of exhaustion. I'm worried, because the life boat's medical kit was not made for our now dwindling number of 20 men. 20 god dam men left. We have begun to throw the bodies overboard. It grieves us to the point of death, but the sharks, somehow are being maddened by the smell of death. They have begun to ram our boat. Weasel, who's thankfully alive, said maybe there's a way to lure in a shark close enough, and we can somehow kill it. But my aim isn't so steady, and no one else's is any better. If I try and miss, there's a chance I wounded the shark, and it could easily attack us again, and destroy the boat. But it's that or we all die, for the men are wasting away. We must try.

_**September 14, 1985./Food!**_

I didn't miss! I shot 4 bullets into that monster's brain. He thrashed, and fought an unwinable battle. The boys and I dined on fresh, uncooked great white shark meat. It was a little chewy, but delicious. Of course, we hauled as much as we could very quickly onboard before other sharks came, but we got most of the shark before some smaller hammerheads got the rest. That was okay. Travis went to work, immediately after eating, cutting off the head and getting the teeth out. "Small weapons, boys. Good as a knife." He said, holding out a tooth, when it isn't broke off, they were quite long. "Good." I had replied, and being stupid, cut myself promptly with a sharks tooth. Later, I helped make and watched him make sheaths from the clothes of our dead brethren.

_**September 16, 1985./Running out of time.**_

Apparently, the insurgents want us bad enough, they sent a heli out to find us. With sharks circling around us, we couldn't hide under the boat, even if all of us were strong enough to do so. The men simply held their guns on us as a soldier slid down a rope, with a knot tied to the end of it, and stood there as he attached a hook to our boat, and the helicopter towed us along. I only had a few bullets left, nothing against the heavy machine gun on the helicopters sides, and machine guns carried by the soldiers. They pulled us for two days, ignoring us, till we got inland to what looked like Somalia. Hell, in other words, for us American and SAS men. Must go, landing soon.

_**September 20, 1985./The End is merciful.**_

No, they wont kill us yet. The stronger ones, anyway. We are now only 15 men, two Navy SEALs, some airmen, 6 SAS men, 6 of me and my men, and a Army Ranger, the last surviving member of his entire squad, platoon, and division that was aboard the ship. I _**will**_ get these men out. Anyway, they pulled us roughly from the boat, instantly killing Walter, and Zachary. We were now 20. Then, the soldiers put to death the weakest ones, ordered to kill 5, and left us with 15. I am broken, but I do not show. I owe it to the remaining men. If I die, I die, Unbroken.

_**September 21, 1985./General crap.**_

We met the guy in charge. He was a very nice bastard, but knifed and gutted one of the Navy SEAL men in front of me and his comrade's face. His blood splattered on our faces, and his screams echoed through the small room. A torture chamber. I got loose, and fought, but yet again, I was hit in the shoulder. I went down hard, dizzy, unfocused, and spitting insults and curses to the man. A general. He just laughed, a female laugh, for such a big man. The remain Navy SEAL, Zeke, hasn't spoken a word since I awoke in our prison cell with the others. I didn't know what to say. And I couldn't help it. I cried. I sobbed like a little kid, begging Zeke to forgive me. The rest of the men to forgive me. I didn't know if I could get them out alive, I didn't know if I could even give them a quick, merciful death. And you know what they said? Led by Zeke, of all men? "You are the captain, Sir. Whatever you do, Wherever you go, Whenever you do anything, we will follow you proudly to the end. I am at peace, now. Finally. I still accept their deaths as my fault, but if anything, they followed me whether I wanted them to or not.


End file.
